take two

It’s been ten minutes since the concert ended. It was almost everything you’ve dreamed of. Almost. 

The night is almost over, but you want it to start from the top. From the moment you woke up this morning. Maybe too far—at least from the moment you entered the venue.

You're scrolling your phone, ignoring its low battery, scanning, studying recordings of the concert like its game footage, replaying, pausing every frame, every possible still where the members could be looking right in your direction, at your lens. It goes without saying: no fancam does their visuals any justice. Especially up close. 

But that’s besides the point. Here’s the answer: they're not looking at you.

There's no point of contact. Not a single photo, a single second, or a single frame in any of the footage you've caught did the girls find you or your lens, even when they're looking right in your direction. Nothing at all. You were caught up in the energy and the chaos of the pit to notice. How their gazes would flicker to the people beside you or behind you, but never land exactly right on you. The way they'd skip past you in favor of someone else. Even when you were frantically raising your sign, practically begging to be noticed, they never tried. 

But it’s all in the past now. The staff are making the announcement, ushering in the VIPs into the backstage lounge by clusters where the send-off will happen. This is your last chance. Your hail mary. After being overlooked the entire night, you believe this is how the universe will rewrite the ending—the plot twist, that this is how it will balance itself out.

You're already at a disadvantage by the time you're being led in. Along the main stretch, barricade and the first three rows after have been occupied by those who were herded in first. People who probably paid their way to priority, you assume—or just plain bad luck, seeing as you’re among the later people to enter. Given your desperation and how everything seems to go against your best wishes, you choose to believe the former. You can try and settle somewhere in the fourth row, behind tall behemoths with their equally obstructive signs and jostling for a partial view of the girls. If they couldn't see you up front, they definitely wouldn't find you now.

Miraculously, your gaze snags on a lone island in this sea of bodies: a spot in the corner on the right side of the room shadowed by a concrete pillar. And no one's taken their spot in it just yet.

So while everyone's busy taking up the prime spots in the main row or closer to the entrance, you stake your claim before anyone else considers it. Given the circumference of the lounge, they're bound to walk past you again. This time, however, you're right at the edge. The very last thing they see before they return to the center. You. It’s as perfect of a goodbye as you’ll possibly get.

A few others pick up late and take their spots around you. No matter. Surely, the interaction you've been expecting the whole night is all but guaranteed.

For the next few tense minutes, everyone anxiously waits. The roar of the crowd inside the venue has softened to a softer, yet still electric rumble. Despite the rather intimate setting, the lounge houses a few hundred strong, you surmise, given how the VIPs stretch across the barrier in several rows like a tidal wave.

Then, from a distance, a door can be heard swinging from a distance, its echo ripping through the room like a call to arms. Everyone stops what they’re doing. The room goes quiet. Their attention focuses on the small hallway on the left, right across your view.

The ripple comes quietly at first, like a receding wave before an incoming tsunami. Then, the room erupts through into a thunderous roar like it's the very first song of the night.

The girls are here. Again. Still wearing their encore fits. Still unbelievably ethereal.

Even from a distance, you can tell they're exhausted. After all, it had only been 40 minutes since the concert ended, and they'd given their all on stage for the better part of 2 hours, to the point where their speeches felt more rehearsed and scripted than ever. But the idol veneer doesn't crack; not completely. What little sign of weariness on their faces effortlessly disappears when the light shines on them, seemingly gaining a second wind, looking ready to go another round. As they turn to the crowd, they’re waving and smiling, professional as ever.

Staff made three things clear: they'll go around once, there’ll be no signing, and no accepting gifts or letters. Everything else—selfies, videos, signs—is fair game. The handwritten letter in your bag now feels meaningless. But not your sign. The same one you've been holding up for the last couple of hours. And somehow, even after all the screaming and cheering, you still have your voice. You'll expend the last of your lungs if it means they'll finally look at you.

They start from the other side of the room, and you watch them deliver their best. From left to right, they slip into fanservice like it's muscle memory.

Gaeul's as calm and calculating as ever. She waves at anyone and everyone she sees. She spots a banner with her face plastered on it with a message printed in Hangul and smiles at them like it's the most precious thing in the world. Then she leans forward to pose for a fan's phone, and the lights above shine like they're meant solely for her. She asks them to show the photo, and after a brief inspection, nods in approval before moving on.

Rei is the people's champion. Hand to her ear, she implores the room to chant her name, listening intently at every voice, making them shout louder and louder. Yet somehow, she notices one standout in the crowd and points at them. A fan holds up a sign asking her to do that stupid gesture (you know the one), and she obliges, complete with her trademark cheeky grin. The crowd roars in approval as they yell out 'six-seven!' before she moves past their section.

Leeseo's sunshine personified. She's bouncing on her feet, but grounded at the same time. Someone makes a half-heart in her direction and she completes it. Then another. And another. Another fan holds up their Erang-e plush in front of her and she tickles the fabric like it were her own. She fulfills everyone's request with an energy that feels relentless, but with a smile reminiscent of Wonyoung: restrained, cautious. Her eyes catch on a girl trying to call her from behind a trash bin, sandwiched by bodies also trying to get her attention, and she meets her halfway. Doesn't matter that her hair's touching the chute; she's gonna meet them all.

Wonyoung is exactly who she is: an untouchable princess, grace given human form. She keeps a careful distance from the barriers; not cold or apathetic, but delicate and guarded. However, every little motion she does is smooth and effortless. She's the most attentive and keen-eyed of the bunch (though they all are). Her skin radiant under the lights, she points at every girl in the crowd, and floats along the line with her usual style. Someone yells if she can do her legendary twirl, and she delivers, leaving that section swooning. Another asks her if she can have a photocard signed; she puts her hands together gently and bows apologetically. To compensate, she waves her fingers around in the shape of her signature and blesses their camera with a flying kiss.

Liz carefully scans the crowd. Not as careful or guarded as Wonyoung or Leeseo, but just—quiet and shy. She finds a fan holding up a little sign and ring asking her to marry him, and she laughs. Make this teasing face, finger to her chin, before mouthing that she'll think about it, and he just fucking loses it. Much like Wonyoung, she keeps a respectable distance from the barricade, but her eyes work quickly through those holding her photocards, banners, and signs to point out every single one. Someone asks her to pose with Rei; she hesitates at first, but Rei spots them and they oblige, and the chemistry is undeniable. 

Lastly, Yujin makes the girls go berserk. She knows she can drive them crazy with anything she does. A slight hint of skin, a flash of her toned midriff is lethal enough. She keeps the motions simple: wave, heart, request. Rinse and repeat. But once in a while, she'll flaunt her body and tease. Whether by posing with her shoulder or lifting the bottom of her shirt to make her stomach clear, she relishes being ogled at. 

Slowly but surely, the members make their trip around the line. Trying to find every face possible, trying to fulfill whatever request they can within reason. No signing stuff or handing gifts or letters, but they do their best everywhere else. Staff and security closely flank each girl, gesturing subtly, whispering behind tightly knit hands: A little bit faster please. We have to go. 

And they try. Even with time against them, they try. Most of their love and affection end up falling in the first three rows; anyone below 5’5 and those further back are hidden behind taller, more demanding hands and a cloud of unruly banners, signs, picket fans, and phones. It's bad luck and poor optics at play.

Not you, though. You're in the right spot. Perfect for them to find you right as they finish their walk around the line.

So you wait. Nervous. Desperate. Each step they take brings them closer, and with you, all the more anxious. The thought starts out small, innocuous: what if they don't see you, what if they stop right before your section, what if—

No. There's no way they wouldn't—

But right now, that's the last thing you want to be thinking about. They're mere inches away, right at touching distance, one member after the other. Gaeul first.

Phone on one hand, homemade sign on the other. Any interaction—just one second of clear, direct recognition through you or lens—is more than enough to complete your night. Your voice finds strength. Here we go.

Gaeul's completing a girl’s heart a few feet away from you. You're screaming her name, still as loud as two hours ago, even though the cracks occasionally show. She waves to someone holding up a Dal-e plush, giving them a thumbs up. The guy that’s been beside you throughout the show and now here shows her a sign with her face photoshopped on an orange in reference to some joke she made during one of her variety show appearances, and she laughs, pointing and asking if she can hold it for a photo. Afterward, her gaze shifts, and you can feel her eyes tilting in your direction. This is it—

But she snags right before you make direct eye contact. She stops on a dime and turns on her heel, walking away from your section slowly, waving to the crowd in the distance. Ouch.

But there's no time to react; Rei bounds in, smiling ear to ear. She high-fives a kid and pats her head, then does her signature aegyo for a fan holding up a sign saying he traveled from the Philippines to see her. Right there, dancing along the barrier, she's also just one glance away from finding you—but she doesn't. Much like Gaeul, she turns around and walks off, done with your section.

The pain doesn't register, at least not right away. Your smile quirks a tad. Hope flickers, but it isn't completely dead. Not until they're all saying goodbye and leaving the room. There's still four more chances. Surely.

The worst thing imaginable isn't about to happen—right.

Leeseo's next, still lively as ever, still infectiously beaming. She completes a heart from someone in the third row, pushing through a wall of bodies between her and the fan sandwiched in there. However, aside from her and doing a magic sign for someone behind you, that's pretty much it; she steps back and waves at the surrounding area, which someone feels intentionally hurtful since her gaze and flying kiss doesn't include you. Then like the other two before her, she proceeds to back away and spins on her heel returning to the center.

Still keeping distance, Wonyoung points and shoots. She blesses every fan with her gaze and her magic fingers. A girl holds up a sign asking her to make a wish since it's her birthday, and she stops. Closes her eyes and puts her hands together, mutters a little prayer, then she blows a magic candle for her. She then spots a fan in the fourth row holding up a peach-shaped sign with a picture of her and Yujin posing together during one of their fansigns. Yujin also finds them and joins her to recreate it. After sharing a laugh, Wonyoung spins away in the other direction.

At this point, you've all but given up. You've lowered the sign and raised a mental white flag. No matter how hard you scream their names, they don't hear you. No matter how much you wave your sign, it doesn't exist. In their eyes, you're like transparent glass they see right past.

You don't break, at least not completely. Your knees crumple as your heart splinters and fractures. The tears are barely held at bay out of fear that you might cause a scene. Not here. Not in front of several hundreds of strangers and your idols right there in an intimate, private setting like this, especially with all the phones. 

Two members remain. Yujin has moved to the back of the line to entertain what you can assume is an acquaintance or some friend, meaning Liz is up first. She blinks, waves tirelessly at every fan she can see. Someone dressed as her from one of her music videos (Elizabeth Helga Muller, obviously) catches her eye, and in a rare moment, she steps forward to pose with her. But it's quick and fleeting; she steps back just as quickly, and returns to waving at everyone within her line of sight. Even so, you appear invisible to her; she stops at a fan beside you, pointing out her face on the guy's shirt before taking her leave.

And finally, Yujin. Back to completing your section, she laughs at a sign held by a guy saying he's cray cray for her. She winks at another fan's camera, then shows off her toned, bare shoulder for good measure. The cheers climb a pitch higher, much to her amusement. You too, are screaming your lungs out; you don't know where this second wind came from. Desperation, most likely. Like if she doesn't find you within the next five seconds, you are probably gonna explode.

Nothing like that happens, obviously. But it doesn't hurt any fucking less. If she was holding a knife, then she twisted it into your heart, took it out, and stabbed you again for good measure.

So yeah. Of course she doesn't see you either.

The last thing she obliges to is a girl's request to say hi to a friend FaceTiming in from the fan's phone. Then she joins the others at the center to wave goodbye. They’ve been waving nonstop, fulfilling a few extra requests before her arrival makes them stop.

"Thank you all for coming! Safe travels everyone!" she yells out, met by a final roar of approval from the crowd. They seem to be more than ready to move on. One stop done; now it's onto the next schedule and beyond.

You don't see none of it, only hear how you've been nothing. That you were, in fact, nothing. There's no point in watching this slow trainwreck of a night unfold any further. No point in fighting the tears and exhaustion too. You've crumpled onto the barrier, your legs giving out and crying in silence, too tired to save face at this point. No one cares anyway. They're all busy celebrating their own wins to notice. No commiserations, no comfort—just a cold, brutal reminder that your best nights are just another day in the office for someone else.

It's never been so over.

"Are you okay?"